Overturning Stones
by EEstelle
Summary: Years ago, Snape stumbled onto a strange bit of magic and made a deal for his life. He vowed to never return. Now, haunted by Lily's memory, he realizes he must either live in pain, or again face the imp that saved him. But going back means paying his debt, and Severus finds that with Rumpelstiltskin, you always get more than you bargained for...


**A/N** : Hello, friendly reader! So this is the first chapter of my first soon-to-be full-length story! Yay! As a somewhat inexperienced writer, I acknowledge that there will likely be aspects of my writing and story that need work, and if you notice anything, I am open to any and all suggestions. That being said, this is only the first chapter. If it's slow, give it time. If something's not quite explained, well, we'll see how the plot unfolds. If you hate it, go somewhere else... nobody will ever know. *smiley face* In any case, I bid you adieu for the moment, and please enjoy the beginning of Overturning Stones! (Title will be explained later- I know, you're so curious... hahaha.)

 **Chapter One:** _"I know you won't forget me..."_

He felt something in his hand, something he must have been holding for some time now, but he hadn't noticed. It was his wand, and as he clutched it tightly, it began to glow, illuminating just far enough for him to see his arm, where there appeared to be some sort of black marking.

Suddenly, he was choking; it was as if he couldn't breath. He was drowning, drowning in a deep crimson memory; his own blood. Swimming in front of his eyes, he saw a great snake, and it was laughing at him, its glistening fangs sinking into his neck, its muscles writhing as it struck repeatedly. In the background, a white face with red, slit eyes laughed along, an evil, high-pitched sound that resonated around the room.

And he was flying, flying along a shadowy hallway, to a ruined place. A child was crying, and the cry echoed with the laughter; a rag doll lay sprawled on the rubble-strewn floor. He stumbled to the doll, and he lifted the lifeless form. Its face was streaked with dirt, covered with tears, and empty of it's usual light. Its eyes were closed, and its fiery hair was smoking. The child continued to cry, and then was suddenly silent. The doll was dead, but had once been alive. She raised her head instantaneously, the opened eyes bright green and glowing maniacally, her smile unnaturally red.

"Hello, Severus. I know you won't forget me."

She fell back limply and was still.

Severus Snape woke with a scream.

 **X**

The room was quiet, bathed in the shadows of a semi-distant dawn, but it took a few moments for the man to calm himself enough to breath and see it. The slightest cool could be felt through the curtains of the corner window, declaring the coming of autumn, and then long winter nights. In the center of his small bed, Snape sat up, his hand on his sweaty face and running through his greasy, black but greying hair. He was shaking, for the dream had felt so real, so recent. Even if it had happened over twenty years ago.

Yes, Snape was alive, and there would be many surprised to know the truth. It was a truth they thankfully would never discover, not after all that had happened. Even if Voldemort, the man who'd tried to kill him, was gone.

He would always be the traitor, the spy.

They would never learn that he was the reason that the boy Harry Potter, the son of his hated enemy and deepest love, was dead.

After escaping death, Severus ran. He felt no pride in it, but there was no one who needed him that could condemn him anymore, and so he did not allow himself to feel shame. Mostly. He ran, and he didn't look back. Harry Potter would die, Dumbledore was lost, Lily left him long ago, and there was no one and nothing remaining for him. He was an empty man, and so he sought rest and refuge, somewhere where his past could not hurt him ever again.

But that last part was a lie. Obviously, considering the recurring nightmare.

Perhaps what haunted him the most, though, were her simple words, echoing in his mind: " _I know you won't forget me._ " Every night, the same words. And they hurt, excruciatingly, because he had tried to forget her. He had tried, using every effort he possessed.

And, as he always would, he would try again.

Untangling his legs from the blankets, Snape climbed out of bed and pulled on a black robe, grabbing his wand from the only other fixture in the room, (a small side table,) and whisking out through the squeaking door. He headed down the hallway, past one or two small rooms and the kitchen, and stopped finally at what appeared to be a dead end. Deftly, he stooped down, running rough fingers along the wooden floor, before finding a rough edge and lifting. He stepped into the newly opened hole, and he descended blindly- down creaking stairs, through stagnant air, into a silent, waiting abyss.

His feet touched cement, and he paused- took a step, then two- and stood in what he knew was the center of the hollow. Muttering a spell under his breath, he spun in a circle with wand outstretched. Wherever the tip pointed, light appeared, glowing softly. Soon the place was filled with burning candles, and he could see again. He lowered his wand. Flames flickered in his obsidian eyes.

Right before him, a thick pewter cauldron bubbled, the liquid within changing from red, to green, to orange, and back again. On the far wall, a door-less wooden cupboard hung precariously from it's hinges, filled with vials of unspeakable things, and draped in cobwebs. Perhaps a meter away, a rusted cage rested, open. An old tawny owl perched on top, ruffling his matted brown feathers.

With the introduction of light, the owl, Bezoar, hooted softly in protest, his fuzzy face scrunching up in an almost human way. Snape ignored him, instead walking purposefully to the cupboard. His cloak snapped in his wake, sending the bird into disgruntled flight, which bird fluttered for a moment, before landing on the wizard's shoulder. Bezoar nipped his ear rather sharply, irritated. Snape scowled and whipped his arm away, turning and stalking back to the pot. The owl careened off to the side and perched, offended, between the candles. And for the next while, it was quiet as the wizard brewed his potion and the owl went gradually back to sleep.

 **XXX**

He had to admit, the attempt looked better than the last few. Of course, only testing it would say for certain whether or not it was effective, and he was afraid of the outcome. The liquid no longer bubbled, the surface now a motionless, creamy white. Outside, he knew, it would be late morning, but here, it was as dark and silent as when he first came.

Setting the cauldron aside, Severus Snape sat down finally on the far end of the room, brooding, as he stared across to the partially visible stairway ascending to the rest of the house.

From the outside, the house might have been deserted. It was a relatively small house, more of a cottage, really, with wooden walls, dark brown shutters and broken windows covered in grime, now visible with daytime. Somewhere to the east, a small stream gurgled, and to the west, the usual sounds of a remote muggle town would be barely distinguishable from within the structure. At the moment, bright yellow, deep crimson, and earthy brown leaves lay strewed upon the grass, though the trees still stood tall and full.

But though he lived there, Snape rarely ventured outdoors to see any of this. This basement was his true home. He slept upstairs, but that was a place for his nightmares, a place he went to leave the terror, before coming to brew potions and read by low candlelight, or simply try to escape the thoughts that continuously raged inside of his head.

And his thoughts were always of Lily. She was the only person he had ever truly cared for, and she had died to protect her son, Harry Potter, the boy that he had condemned with his supposed last breath. She was the sacrifice that had saved the child, and he was voice that dragged the innocent soul away. He was not even brave enough, man enough, to pay the price for his transgression, and die.

Instead, he stayed away and lived with the shame. Alone, he knew he eventually would die, and with death, he would carry away the final secrets of the dark lord's undoing and the end of the sleeping hero. He would never face those left to mourn the child, would never look them in the eye and explain to them why Harry had chosen death. He would live and die a coward. He might have been a hero, but as he had done so many times before, he gave it up with selfish desires. He deserved to die alone, hated by those who might have been his friends, who could have mourned his passing. He deserved to die in pain, agonizing over the man he would not be and the lives he could not save, the past that he had chosen. He deserved to remember the girl that stole his heart forever.

And still, he was not brave enough to face even those small consequences. Before him, in the center of the room, in that pewter cauldron, the potion of cowards waited. It was a new, experimental version of the forgetfulness potion.

After so many years of wallowing in the pain of memory, Snape didn't think he could handle it anymore. On one fateful Christmas, sometime in the past decade, the broken man had decided he was finished, and he had turned his wand against himself. Still more afraid of death than life, he attempted to eradicate the voices with a forgetfulness charm. It had worked, but for no more than a couple of hours. Once more the next day, and the next week, and the next month, he tried it again, and then again, and then again. He tested new spells, but each ended more poorly than the last. Whenever he closed his eyes, the images returned in their bloodiest array. He never slept through a night.

And one day, he resorted to potions. Why that hadn't been his first response was a mystery even to him, but grief has a way with the mind. In any case, he turned to his books and his stores, or what he had left of them, and since that time, brewing was all he ever did. Always the same concoction, but for a few altered ingredients, and always the same results. He would be free, and then slowly, shattered memories would trickle back, and Lily was always first. It was more effective than the charm had been- sometimes he was free for as much as a few days at a time- but then, something would inevitably trigger his memory of her.

Most often, this happened in his dreams, when he was relaxed and vulnerable. A string of thought would dance across his mind, and he would follow it, reaching for the beckoning mist before it enveloped him in darkness, dragging him into the tortured past. This had left him screaming in the early hours of the morning. This had carried him back to the basement to modify the imperfect potion. Not that he thought it would do any good. He'd forgotten almost everything, at least temporarily, and what good would it do to lose himself if he could still remember her haunting smile? He wasn't even sure he wanted to try anymore.

Nevertheless, he stood and strode to the cupboard, grabbed an empty vial, and stepped up to the pot. He dipped the glass into the mixture, filling it, and held it to his pale lips. Closing his eyes, he pictured Lily for what he hoped, though he did not believe, would be the last time, before silently drinking the bottle down to the last drop.

The vial slipped from his fingers and shattered on the stone floor. Creamy foam slid down his dry throat, and his eyes grew wide and white. The world spun, and Snape fell, hitting his head on Bezoar's unused cage as he went down. For a second, there was confusion, as iridescent tears sprinkled along the lines on his glistening face. And then he succumbed to the blackness.

 **XXX**

His name was Severus. He was a wizard. The owl shrieking in the corner was Bezoar, and he'd gotten him in Diagon Alley back before things had changed so drastically. What had "changed" he couldn't say. More than that, he couldn't really remember.

What, exactly, had transpired? He couldn't recall. He was at home- the idea just came to him- but what was he doing in the basement? Who exactly was he, and where had he come from? His past was almost completely erased. In any case, he was on the floor, and it was rather uncomfortable. He stood up, holding his head as the world began to spin, and stumbled to a wall over broken glass, where he slumped down and waited for the pain to abate.

As the earth slowed, he stared off into the darkness. A handful of candles that must be his flickered, and then one by one, they went out. For a while he wasn't sure what to do- he had no idea what he should be doing, so he sat silently, breathing and grasping for his memories.

In time, the pain left, and an empty man stared into nothing, thinking nothing. At some point, something brushed his hand, and he recognized that the fluffy creature must be Bezoar as the owl nestled into his side. He ran his fingers along the bird's spine, and a shed feather came off in his hand.

" _Lumos_ ," he finally whispered, surprised that he knew the spell, and the wand that he apparently still clutched let off a soft beam of light. He aimed it towards the ceiling and held the tufted feather over the glow so that shifting shadows played above him. He rolled the object between his fingers, and smiled listlessly at the way the bristles danced in the air.

And then it was no longer a feather, and he was in a place far, far away, lying in a meadow. The grass prickled beneath him, and the breeze was light and sweet. The sun snaked its way through the leaves of a luscious tree and onto his frame, but he was fixated on the scene before him, chuckling slightly.

A few meters away, there was a girl. Her hair whipped around her, her green dress flapping in the wind as she twirled and sang and giggled in the bright spring morning. She was happy, and this fact was betrayed not only by her wide smile, but also by her very being. She radiated with joy, and she seemed to be flying. And then she was running towards him, arms outstretched, her pink cheeks glowing.

" _Oh, Severus, how can you sit? Come on, already!_ " Her voice echoed in his mind as he was tugged into a sitting position and coaxed to his feet, shaking his head but smirking. And the two were running, over the humming earth and towards a small cottage, away in the distance. His hand was in her hand, and she was holding it tightly. They were laughing, and the sounds mingled into one jovial strain. He looked at her, and he loved her happiness. She looked at him, and he knew he would remember her forever.

Though neither one knew it, and there was none to see it, the glow of her happiness spread, and soon both gave off that brilliant hope.

The image began fading then, and the two figures drew farther and farther away from the lens of Severus' vision, the boy separating from the broken man. Gradually, their steps slowed as Snape watched, grey passing over them like a film. Finally, they were still, their faces turned in, one up and one down, to meet each other's gazes. The moment was reduced to nothing more than an old fashioned, black and white photograph.

And the edges of the photo began to burn, crimson flames engulfing the surrounding countryside, and traveling along to the center, claiming the children for their own. The photo was gone, and the flames grew into two orbs, elongating into two heinous, slit, red eyes- eyes that belonged on the white face of a murder.

And then the eyes grew round, and the pigment began flickering, from red to orange to purple to blue to yellow, and finally to a beautiful emerald green, framed by thick, long lashes.

And the pupils dilated with fear, and with pain. A scream echoed in his wretched ears, a sound of torture and hopelessness, the sound of the damned, or in this case… the dying.

"No, not Harry, not Harry!" she cried. But he heard, " _No, Severus, no! Save us. Save me…_ "

Alien light flashed, and the glassy depths of her eyes spun and the curtains closed.

And a new pair of eyes opened, and they were dark, and black, and empty. Two abyssal, obsidian eyes, haunted by the past that would never let a tortured soul free.

 **XXX**

 **A/N:** Well, no Once Upon a Time yet, but I had to work out a few things first. Sorry! Don't worry, though, if you're not bored out of your mind yet, things will probably pick up in the next chapter. Enjoy your (sort of) cliff hanger, and may you all have a wonderful week!-EEstelle


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